Somewhere, in the dark, she hides her secret wishes. Again, the
boy-girl thing. Come on in, the waters fine, for the Sharks. Her
blues. A treacherous kiss finds my lips. Where are we? According to
the informant, caught. Dancing, wrapped around each other like good poetry.
Where are we? In between rounds, putting her blues in motion on the
dance floor, hiding from all tomorrows.